Bitch

I admit it.

I saw your pasty and wide pale face, your plastic put-on grin that inadequately covered the leer lurking beneath it, your off-the-rack suit you then had tailored to fit you better, your pudgy fingers sporting only your class ring, and your girth that I'm sure has spread substantially since your glory days in school team sports.

I observed that look of entitlement in your squinty becircled eyes, and the near-appearance of fangs and drool as you stalked me in a public forum.

Duly noted are your limp handshake that you allowed to linger for a second too long, and your lame attempts at engaging me in conversations whilst simultaneously dropping names that may mean something to some, but hold no sway over me.

I admit it.

All that and my conclusive thought (after the shock at your blatant salaciousness in a completely inappropriate venue for that sort of thing) was:

All right. I'll fuck you.
I'll fuck you until you can't see or breathe or think straight and take your shit too.